


The Importance of Team Bonding

by elenajames



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Kneeling, M/M, Multi, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9925205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/elenajames
Summary: There are new rookies on the Flyers, and the start of the season means they must find their place.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sexual content between G/Ghost. Just fyi. I have...no explanation for this other than Kneeling 'Verse is on the brain and I had to.

Rookies are always shy right at the start, but Wayne never lets that fool him. He’s played with dozens of guys, watched new guys come and veteran guys go. The trades are almost easier, everyone’s reputations following them through the league; guys coming up from the AHL are a little different, as they try to adjust to the big league and the pressure and schedule and media. So when training camp starts, he takes the solemn demeanor of Provorov and Konecny with a grain of salt.

 

Provorov stays serious, almost aloof, but there are glimpses of a chirpy, excitable player under Konecny’s initial “I’m a serious hockey player” mask. Camp, and all the extra players it brings, doesn’t quite allow the team dynamic to settle even as they run drills and get to know each other. There’s bonding, sure, but not  _ bonding _ and Wayne knows Claude is keeping an eye on them all to see how things fall into place. 

 

That’s how they wind up here, him and G, Mase and Streiter. Captain, A’s, goalie. It’s easy and comfortable with the four of them sprawled out on the deck at Mase’s, George plodding around between them begging for scraps and neck scratches. 

 

Claude starts without preamble, passing out another round of beers cold and slick from the cooler. “I think Ghost still needs to be me with me this year.” 

 

The others nod, murmuring thanks for the beers, flinging their caps at each other. There’s no feelings of dissent, obviously; some guys never stop kneeling for their captains or chosen Dom on team, some do. It’s just how it is, and - after making a splash of a rookie year - Wayne’d be surprised if Claude had decided anything else. 

 

Wayne watches a silent conversation between Streiter and Mase, before Streiter nods silently and reclines a little more into his chair. 

 

“I’d like to take Provorov. I intend to ask him, but I wanted to make sure we were in agreement first,” Mase drops his eyes briefly as he speaks, a concession to Claude’s leadership.

 

“Yeah, I’m good with it if Mark and Provorov are,” Wayne offers over Claude’s momentary silence. There’s always a special bond between goalies and defensemen, although Wayne half thought Streiter would be taking the rookie himself. Provorov and Mase strike him as maybe too-similar, but he trusts Streiter’s judgement. 

 

Mark’s already nodding, waving his hand in a dismissive way. “It will be good for him.” 

 

“Agreed,” Claude You’ll let me know if things aren’t?”

 

“Of course,” Mase nods, giving G a small, understanding smile. 

 

It’s then that Claude’s gaze settles on Wayne, and he meets it readily. “TK’s going to be like you, Simmer. I can feel it, but that means he needs you on the ice and off.” 

 

“I know, G.” And Wayne does. There’s something about Konecny - TK - that feels familiar, a pull that’s snagged his interest. “I will.” 

 

“Good.” Claude looks relieved, the tension bleeding from his shoulders now that things are settled. 

 

* * *

 

Claude lets them approach the rookies on their own terms, a confidence in them and their ability that Wayne’s always appreciated. TK seems to know what’s coming, a bit of hesitation under his normal friendly demeanor when he accepts Wayne’s invite to hang out on a rare free night. For the first time since Wayne’s known him, TK looks uncomfortable in his own skin, standing awkwardly in the doorway, socked feet shifting in the carpet. 

 

“Come on, kid. You’re fine.” Wayne steers the rookie into the kitchen; he’s not the greatest cook, but baked chicken and potatoes are easy enough. He pointedly sticks to water, offering TK soda. The kid loosens up some as they talk about the upcoming season, old stories about the vets and new ones from rookies that have Wayne shaking his head as he laughs. 

 

A lull in the conversation - once their plates are empty -  gives Wayne his opening. “I’m sure you know why you’re here,” he says, gentle as he can because TK’s already back to looking a little spooked. “I wanna say first, I don’t play games. We’re gonna lay out limits before we do anything. I will never ask you to do something beyond your hard limits, and I expect you do the same for me.” 

 

TK’s nodding before Wayne can finish, and he has to bite down on a smile. It’s a little easier once Wayne’s broken the ice about it. He’s pleased to find TK’s got very defined ideas of what he  _ doesn’t _ want; the amount of grey area he has isn’t unusual for a player his age, and it’s definitely something they can work on as they go. 

 

“You can kneel for me tonight, if you want. I would like it but don’t expect it this time.” 

 

“Yeah. May I?” 

 

Resting his hand just at the nape of TK’s neck, Simmer guides him to the living room, dropping a pillow down on the floor. The kid folds himself down neatly, facing the couch the way Wayne likes. TK loops one arm around Wayne’s leg once he’s settled on the couch, cheek coming to rest on the soft denim over Wayne’s knee.

 

“That’s it. Good.” The way TK melts as Wayne gently pets through his hair warms him, turning into a kernel of satisfaction in Wayne’s chest. He flips the TV on, turning the volume down low just to have some background noise, but he keeps his attention on the boy at his feet. Green eyes slip closed after a while as warm, even breaths puff out over Wayne’s knee. 

 

Wayne shakes TK awake when the rookie drifts off to sleep. He comes easy when Wayne coaxes him up and onto the couch, loose and relaxed as he slumps into Wayne’s side. “You can spend the night. I have a spare room.” 

 

TK just hums in response, prompting a little laugh from Wayne. Pulling out his phone, he sinks back into the couch, petting along TK’s back as the kid comes back up. It starts with fiddling with the loose threads of the stitching on Wayne’s shirt and turns into quiet shifting until TK sits up altogether, his eyes clear and shoulders relaxed. He’s a little pink in the face, but he smiles when Wayne nudges their shoulders together. 

 

“You’re a good kid, man. I knew you would be. You wanna stay?” 

 

“Nah, I’m - that was great, but I’m okay. Awesome, actually. I think I’ll head home. See you game time tomorrow?” 

 

“Okay. Text me when you get there.” 

 

Wayne watches until TK’s tail lights disappear, thumbing a quick message to G before he heads back to the kitchen to clean up. The row of emoji’s he gets back makes him shake his head, but there’s a smiley and a thumbs up in there, so he counts it as a win. 

 

* * *

  
  


“I shouldn’t be embarrassed about this, but I kind of am?” Ghost admits softly. He’s staring at his favorite cushion, in its customary place in front of G’s favorite recliner, like it’s something he wants but cannot have. 

 

Claude leans against the doorway, watching his friend fight with himself. “You’re right. You shouldn’t. Some guys are subs their entire career, but you know that. So why’s it different for you, Shayne?” 

 

A few, long moments stretch between them before Ghost gives a shuddery sigh. “It’s not. They’re not me, and their expectations aren’t mine, either.” 

 

“That’s right. Kneel.” Shayne drops like Claude’s voice sliced the tension right out of him. Hands-on-knees, he casts his gaze down to the floor as Claude approaches. Strong fingertips run over his scalp and down until Claude’s rubbing gently at the tense muscles of Shayne’s neck. He lets himself be pulled forward until his forehead presses against Claude’s thigh, closing his eyes and soaking up the attention. 

 

“Good, Shayne. That’s good.” Claude goes to step back, but Shayne’s just a tisch too slow in letting go. The older man pauses, dropping his fingers down into Shayne’s hair again even as Shayne loosens his grip. “Shayne. Did you go all summer without . . .?” 

 

“Sorry, Claude.” Heat rises in his face; Claude had asked him, had  _ told  _ him to find someone to kneel for if he wasn’t going to come to Claude during break, but he hadn’t. “I thought I was okay.” 

 

“Jesus, kid. You still should’ve called me, alright?” 

 

Tears prickle at Shayne’s eyes even though Claude sounds more sad and worried than he does angry. “Yes, Claude.” 

 

Shuffling around, Claude sits so Shayne’s bracketed by his legs, keeping a hand in the younger man’s hair and petting gently. He murmurs soft reassurances as Shayne sniffles; there aren’t real tears, and the little knot in Shayne’s chest doesn’t dissipate as much as he needs it to. Claude keeps him there for a while, until Shayne’s loose and nuzzling at Claude’s thighs, dragging his open mouth along the soft skin there. 

 

“Shayne. You sure?” 

 

“Yes, Claude, please?” 

 

Levering up from the chair just a little, Claude shuffles his shorts and boxers down his thighs. He’s hard in a lazy kind of way, but the tiny suckling kisses of Shayne’s mouth gets him the rest of the way there. Shayne knows just how to balance what they each like best, teasing Claude’s tip and taking him deep enough for his eyes to water in turns, coming up gasping but looking determined. He settles into steady sucks and bobs of his head when Claude fists his hair ever so slightly, eyes fixed on Claude’s as he coaxes the orgasm from him. 

 

Maybe it’s animal instinct or just a desire to reaffirm his claim, but Claude pulls his cock from Shayne’s mouth and comes over the other man’s face, doing his best to avoid getting it in his eyes. Shayne takes it well, closing his eyes and humming quietly as Claude finishes himself off. 

 

“Jesus. Sorry.” Stripping off his shirt, Claude wipes Shayne’s face as clean as he can, pressing a kiss to his mouth when he’s done. 

 

“It’s okay. I liked it.” Shayne blushes as he speaks but keeps his gaze up, a sure sign that he’s okay with this. “I - I like being yours.” 

 

“Yeah. Like having you be mine, Shayne. You’re so damn good.” Claude’s cock is sticky-wet, and he knows Shayne’s still hard, but he leaves the younger man where he is for now, petting him gently until he drifts again. They have all weekend for this, and Claude’s not going to rush through.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve knows he’s quiet, but Provorov is  _ quiet _ and so, so serious. The boy comes when Steve asks, leans against him on the couch as they watch TV in silent acknowledgement of why he’s here. Tension lingers in his shoulders, tenseness in his muscles even after they’ve been sitting there a while. Flicking the volume down on the television, Steve drops the remote on the couch and drapes his arm around Ivan’s shoulders. 

 

“You’re a Dom.” 

 

“Yes.” Ivan’s response is clipped. Wary. 

 

“You know that all rookies spend their first season kneeling for a veteran teammate, regardless.” 

 

“Of course. And I am going to kneel for you.” 

 

“You are. With your approval. If you don’t think you can kneel for me, I won’t make you. We won’t. Another guy will step in.” 

 

“I don’t have a problem with you, Steve,” Ivan says slowly. “I’m . . .sorry if I’ve given that impression.” 

 

With a little sigh, Steve rubs his hand over Ivan’s arm, searching for the right words. “You haven’t. We’re similar, too similar, some of the guys think. I think we can make that work for us, in private and on the ice.’

 

“You don’t have to answer me now, tonight. You have all the time you’d like, unless Claude or I have concerns about your well-being. Even then, no one is going to force you.” 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

Steve turns the TV back up, changes it to a hockey game. Ivan doesn’t say much else about it, but finally relaxes into Steve’s side. They murmur commentary to one another, critiques on form and plays and choices the players make. It’s nice, comfortable, and Steve is unsurprised but pleased when he gets a text from Ivan before practice later that week. 

 

_ Yes.  _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I take prompts and have more content over at [tumblr](http://iaintafraidofnoghostbear.tumblr.com/).


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